It was while I was in the middle of explaining how to set up proper fields of fire that I heard the sound of running footsteps on the deck outside. The rapid, panicked rhythm was unmistakable—someone was in a serious hurry.
The door burst open with a crash that made everyone jump, revealing a familiar figure.
"Master!" Delgado stumbled into the restaurant with panic written across his face and sweat dripping from his brow. "Your treasure! Someone stole your treasure from the ship!"
Ah. Perfect timing, as always. Because defending against Don Krieg's imminent attack wasn't complicated enough without adding theft to the equation.
"What happened?" My voice came out flat, controlled.
Delgado looked like he wanted to disappear. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair—a nervous habit I'd noticed during our travels. "I was fixing the rudder, like you said. Making sure everything was ready."
He paused, clearly working up the courage to continue. The fact that he was struggling this much told me everything I needed to know about how thoroughly he'd been played.
"This girl came up to me. She asked if this was the Dead-Eyes Hikigaya's ship." Delgado said, his voice growing slightly stronger as he warmed to his narrative.
"Claimed she was an admirer of both our reputations, that she'd heard stories about our adventures throughout the East Blue and requested autographs," Delgado continued, his voice now barely above a whisper.
"From both of us. Said it would be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream to possess something personal from the legendary Dead-Eyes Hikigaya and his trusted companion."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, counting to ten in my head while resisting the urge to grab Delgado by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled.
The urge to violence was almost overwhelming, not because of anger, but because of the sheer, mind-numbing frustration of watching someone fall for the most transparent manipulation imaginable.
'Trusted companion,' I thought with bitter amusement.
'She even fed his ego while she was setting up the con. Professional work, I have to admit. Identify the target's weaknesses, exploit their vanity, make them feel important and special, then strike when their guard is completely down.'
"And then?" I prompted, though I was already beginning to suspect where this tragic tale was heading.
"Whi-While I was signing, she hit me with something hard on the back of my head. When I woke up..."
"The treasure was gone," I finished.
He nodded miserably. "Everything. The gold coins, the gems, the money…"
'Perfect timing,' I thought with bitter amusement. 'Because clearly, what this scenario needs is another layer of complexity.'
"What did she look like exactly?"
Something about this felt familiar in a way that made my stomach clench.
"Pretty young lady, like I said. Orange hair, about shoulder length. Brown eyes, I think—"
"Nami!!!"
The shout came from behind me. I turned to see three faces I'd become reluctantly familiar with over the past hour—Luffy, Roronoa, and Usopp, all staring at Delgado with expressions of shock and recognition.
'Of course. Of course, it would be her.'
"So it was one of yours," I said aloud, my voice low and dangerous enough to make the temperature in the room seem to drop several degrees.
"We-We had no idea!" Luffy said quickly. "Nami was supposed to be our navigator, but we never told her such a thing!"
"She acted on her own," Roronoa added, his hand moving instinctively toward his sword hilts. "We're in the dark as much as you are."
"We trusted her completely!" Usopp nodded frantically. "We never thought she'd—"
I held up a hand, cutting off their explanations. I was about to ask where the damn woman is when the world exploded.
SLASHHH!!!!!!!!
The sound hit first—a deep, resonant boom that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The entire restaurant shook, dishes rattling, the massive structure groaning as waves rocked it. Through the windows, debris rained into the ocean.
We rushed outside, feet slipping on the suddenly unstable deck. What I saw made my blood run cold.
The massive galleon that had been Krieg's flagship was floating in three perfect pieces. The cuts were clean and precise, as if someone had sliced through reinforced wood and iron like soft bread.
Only one person in this world could make cuts like that.
"He is here," I whispered.
Dracule Mihawk. The World's Strongest Swordsman. The man who could cut through mountains, who sailed alone in a coffin-shaped boat, who wielded Yoru with the skill that bordered on supernatural.
And he was here. Now. While I was dealing with theft and preparing for battle with Krieg's crew.
The timing felt like cosmic mockery.
The water continued to churn from the displaced energy. Waves that should have taken minutes to reach us arrived in seconds, a testament to the sheer force involved in destroying such a massive ship.
"Master," Delgado grabbed my arm, voice shaky. "Our ship…!"
"Get the ship away from here," I said, already moving toward the edge. "Focus only on the rudder repairs. Don't interfere with the battle and keep our ship safe."
"Yes, Master!" Delgado disappeared toward our ship. I turned back to find the Straw Hats in various states of distress. Luffy stared at the wreckage with wide eyes. Usopp trembled openly. But Roronoa caught my attention.
The green-haired swordsman stared at the destroyed ship with an expression I recognized too well. The look of someone who'd just seen their ultimate goal made manifest. The look of someone about to do something incredibly stupid.
Two waterlogged pirates clung to debris near the restaurant's edge—survivors from whatever had happened to their ship.
"Where's that woman?" I asked. "And where's my treasure?"
"She took our ship too," Luffy said, uncharacteristically serious. "The Going Merry. She deceived all of us."
"She pulled a fast one over us," Usopp added. "Damn it! Even during this crisis!"
I studied their faces for signs of deception. All I saw was genuine hurt and confusion. These weren't conspirators—they were people who'd been betrayed by someone they'd trusted completely.
"I want you guys to go after her," Luffy continued. "She's still going to be our navigator no matter what. I don't know why she did this, but there has to be a reason."
The naive optimism was both admirable and infuriating. Robbed and abandoned, and his first instinct was to assume noble explanations for betrayal.
'As expected of a Shonen Protagonist.'
"Zoro and Usopp will go after her," Luffy decided. "They'll take Johnny and Yosaku's ship and bring back both our ship and your treasure."
I looked at the two waterlogged men—Johnny and Yosaku, the bounty hunters, I think.
Their ship was small and mobile. Perfect for pursuit.
"And you?" I asked, though I already knew.
"I'm staying. The restaurant needs protection, and I promised I'd help."
There it was—that infuriating, admirable refusal to abandon people in need, even when his own goals were at stake.
'But even if you act like a shonen protagonist, I will still deal with you like a normal person.'
"Don't think you can deceive me," I told them. "I can find you anywhere in the East Blue if you try to run with my treasure."
Roronoa nodded. "We'll bring everything back. You have my word."
I was about to respond when my Mantra flared with alarm.
"THIS…!!!"
Something was approaching—so powerful I could feel it from an impossible distance.
My range wasn't that extensive, which meant whatever was coming radiated power on a scale I'd never encountered.
My head snapped toward the source.
"Eh? What's wrong?"
The Straw Hats followed my gaze, and soon everyone was looking in the same direction.
A small boat approached calmly across the water. It looked like an oversized coffin, black wood gleaming wetly. Two candles burned with green flame at its prow, casting light that bent the air around them.
In the center, beneath a small mast, sat a man in a chair that looked more like a throne. Wide-brimmed black hat, long black coat, bare chest decorated with a golden cross.
The most alarming thing was his sharp gaze, it was like he was trying to cut someone with his gaze alone, a truly bizarre thing.
But it was the sword on his back that confirmed what I'd known from the moment my Mantra detected his presence.
'Yoru. The Supreme Black Blade.'
Dracule Mihawk had arrived.
I felt something from the Sword of Gryffindor at my hip grow warm, as if it was responding to Yoru's presence.
'This line sounds Chuni as hell.' The whole situation was messing with my mind. I know my sword is a magical sword and should have some sort of will, but is it to this extent?
Roronoa stepped forward, hand moving to his swords. There was something in his expression that I recognized immediately—the look of a man who had finally found what he had been searching for his entire life, regardless of whether he was prepared for the encounter or not.
"Don't do it," I said, my words directed at Roronoa but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're not even close to his level. It would be like throwing your life away for no purpose."
Roronoa looked at me, conflict clear in his eyes. Part of him knew I was right. But another part, the part that had driven him to become the most feared swordsman in the East Blue, couldn't let this pass.
"I've already bet my life on this dream," he said steadily. "If I back down now, I'll never be able to call myself a swordsman again."
'Tsk, this is exactly the kind of blind courage that gets people killed.' I thought with frustration.
It was a mindset I had never been able to understand, this willingness to risk everything on the chance of achieving something that might be fundamentally impossible.
From a purely logical standpoint, it made no sense. If you truly wanted to accomplish your goals, shouldn't you prioritize survival over-dramatic gestures? Shouldn't you focus on steady progress rather than spectacular failures?
'But then again, logic had never been humanity's strong suit.'
The rest of the encounter unfolded exactly as I remembered from the manga, with a precision that was both comforting and deeply unsettling.
Dracule's small boat glided up to the restaurant with supernatural grace, and people began recognizing him almost immediately.
One of Krieg's pirates shot at him, and he deflected the bullets with an impossible stunt. Roronoa appeared in front of him and asked for a duel, one which Dracule agreed to.
What I hadn't expected, what the manga had never prepared me for, was Dracule turning his attention directly to me.
Those piercing red eyes, sharp as a sword, fixed on me with an intensity that made my blood freeze in my veins.
When he spoke, his voice carried easily across the water, each word precise and deliberate, weighted with the kind of authority that comes from never having been contradicted.
"And what about you?" he asked, his gaze never wavering from mine. "Do you wish to challenge me as well?"
For a moment, I was too shocked to formulate any kind of response.
'Me? Challenge the world's strongest swordsman? When did I do that? Will I even think about doing that? No way, right?'
The idea was so absurd it bordered on the surreal.
But there was something in Dracule's expression that suggested he was entirely serious, something that implied he saw something in me that I didn't recognize in myself.
"Are you... referring to me?" I managed to stammer, pointing at myself with what I desperately hoped looked like casual confusion rather than the pants-wetting terror it actually was.
"The sword you have," Dracule observed, his eyes moving to examine the Gryffindor blade at my side with the kind of professional interest a jeweler might show a rare diamond.
"That blade... it possesses a presence I have rarely encountered before. Something on the level of the Supreme Grades, which is strange as I don't recognize it. However, it seems eager to test itself against Yoru."
'Wonderful,' I thought with bitter resignation. 'My sword is apparently getting me into trouble. Just what I needed—a weapon with delusions of grandeur and a death wish.'
"I'm not a swordsman," I said quickly, raising my hands in what I hoped was a sufficiently non-threatening gesture. "I'm merely a sword user. I don't follow the way of the sword or subscribe to any particular philosophy of combat. I simply... use it as a tool."
The distinction was important, at least to me.
A swordsman was someone who had dedicated their life to mastering their craft, who viewed their blade as an extension of themselves and their battles as tests of their spiritual development.
I was just someone who had acquired a magical sword through supernatural means and learned to use it effectively through necessity and practice.
Dracule's expression didn't change, but I could see a flicker of what might have been a disappointment in those hawk-like eyes. "A pity," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of genuine regret.
"For a blade of such extraordinary power to be wielded by someone who does not appreciate its true nature... You should learn to properly tame that sword if you wish to preserve your life."
'Please don't raise death flags like that, I thought desperately. I'm trying—and failing— to maintain a low profile here, not attract the personal attention of the world's most dangerous swordsman.'
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me. I had spent months carefully avoiding exactly this kind of high-profile confrontation, only to find myself thrust into the spotlight by circumstances entirely beyond my control.
'It was like spending years preparing for a test, only to discover that the exam was on a completely different subject.'
Before I could formulate any kind of response, Roronoa stepped forward again, his voice carrying a note of irritation that suggested he felt he was being ignored in favor of less worthy competition.
"Are we going to have this duel or not?" he demanded, his hand tightening on his sword hilts with barely controlled anticipation.
Dracule turned his attention back to the green-haired swordsman, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me as those predatory eyes moved away from my face.
But the relief was temporary, quickly replaced by a growing sense of dread as I realized what was about to unfold.
Dracule's attention returned to him. "Very well."
But instead of drawing Yoru, he produced a small knife—barely larger than a letter opener.
"What is the meaning of this?" Roronoa asked, voice tight with anger.
"It is the smallest thing I have," Dracule replied calmly. "I'm not a beast. I don't hunt rabbits with a cannon."
The insult was delivered so matter-of-factly it took a moment for its impact to register. Dracule wasn't just dismissing Roronoa's strength—he was suggesting using his full power would be inappropriate. Like using military weapons to swat flies.
"Don't underestimate me," Roronoa said through clenched teeth as he bounced at Dracule.
"Hear me, little frog in his well. It's time for you to realize that the world is bigger than it seems from the well."
What followed was less fight than demonstration. Roronoa attacked with everything—techniques that had made him famous throughout the East Blue. Each strike was precise, powerful, and backed by years of training.
Dracule stopped them all with casual flicks of his tiny knife.
Every attack Roronoa launched was countered with contemptuous ease. Every technique he employed was turned aside with the kind of effortless grace that spoke of absolute mastery.
Dracule Mihawk moved like a master dancer performing a routine he had perfected over decades, his small blade seeming to be everywhere at once, deflecting strikes that should have been physically impossible to block.
But what struck me most profoundly was not the vast difference in their combat abilities—that had been obvious from the very beginning—but the sheer, stubborn determination with which Roronoa continued to fight.
'This is madness,' I thought, watching Roronoa pour everything he possessed into a battle he had no realistic hope of winning.
'Why doesn't he retreat? This is not a manga when he will look cool, if he continues, he will only die. Why doesn't he acknowledge defeat and live to fight another day? What's the point of dying now for a dream that's clearly beyond your current reach?'
But even as I asked myself these questions, another voice in my mind—a voice I had silenced for two years now—whispered a different perspective, one that cut uncomfortably close to truths I preferred not to examine.
'What if your goal was impossible from the start?'
'What if your goal was so beyond your reach?'
'What if every time you took a step back to "train harder" and "find another approach", you understood more and more how far away and how impossible this goal of yours was?'
'Will you have the same determination you had before?'
The answer was a clear 'No'.
'You will slowly, very slowly, give up on that goal every time you take a step back. Your spirit will be chipped a bit by bit until all of your aspirations are completely null.'
'And you will only find yourself an empty husk of the person who started.'
The thought was deeply uncomfortable, hitting closer to home than I cared to acknowledge.
How long had I been telling myself that I needed more preparation before venturing into the Grand Line?
How many times had I postponed my departure with excuses about insufficient readiness, about needing more resources, about the dangers being too great for my current level of ability?
'Six months,' I realized with dawning horror. 'I've been making excuses for six months, telling myself I'm being strategic and careful when really I'm just... scared.'
The realization hit me like a physical blow, forcing me to confront a truth I had been avoiding with increasingly elaborate rationalizations.
All this time, I had been criticizing others for their reckless behavior, for their willingness to charge headfirst into dangerous situations without proper planning or adequate preparation.
But what was my own behavior if not a different kind of cowardice—the cowardice of infinite preparation, of waiting for the perfect moment that would never actually arrive?
'When does caution become cowardice?' I wondered, watching Roronoa refuse to yield despite the obvious futility of his position. 'When does preparation become procrastination? When does strategic thinking become elaborate self-deception?'
'But…still…even with all of that…'
'What can you do if you are dead…?'
Roronoa's attacks grew more desperate but no less determined. Even as exhaustion showed, even as it became clear Dracule could end this whenever he chose, the green-haired swordsman refused to back down.
Finally, Dracule seemed bored. With movement too fast to follow, he stepped inside Roronoa's guard and pressed his knife tip against the swordsman's chest, directly over his heart, drawing a lot of blood.
"Why do you refuse to step back? Do you wish for me to pierce your heart thus?" Dracule asked simply.
But Roronoa didn't step back.
"Beats me...not really sure myself... but I had the feeling that if I were to take a step back, I'd never be able to return back to where I am standing now again."
The gesture was so unexpected, so completely at odds with everything I'd learned about survival, that I gritted my teeth.
What was he doing? What could possibly be gained by choosing death over retreat?
What can you accomplish by throwing away your life?
Dracule stared at Roronoa, something shifting in his expression. "What drives you to fight when you know you cannot win?"
"My dream," Roronoa replied without hesitation. "And a promise I made to someone."
"Interesting, Kid, I'd like to hear your name."
"Roronoa Zoro," Roronoa replied as he positioned himself for a final strike.
Dracule lowered his knife, then reached for Yoru's hilt. "Very well, I shall remember it. I'll honor your conviction with my finest blade."
The black sword slid from its sheath with a sound like silk tearing. Even in afternoon sunlight, Yoru seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
The weapon was enormous—easily as tall as Dracule—but he wielded it as if it weighed nothing.
'This was it.' Dracule was about to use his true power, and Roronoa was about to die for stubborn pride.
I should have looked away. Should have focused on preparing for the battle I am going to fight in moments.
But I couldn't tear my eyes away, couldn't stop wondering what it would feel like to commit so completely to something you'd rather die than compromise.
Dracule slashed with Yoru in a perfect arc. Roronoa met the attack head-on, all three swords for one final attack.
The clash lasted less than a second.
When it was over, Roronoa stood motionless. Then, slowly, two of his swords shattered, metal falling in pieces. A line of blood appeared across his chest—not fatal, but clear evidence of how completely he'd been outclassed.
He collapsed to his knees. For a moment I thought that was the end.
But Roronoa stood back, giving his front to Dracule. Saying that a wound on the back of a swordsman is a shame. Something that Dracule praised as he gave the finishing blow.
Then Roronoa collapsed, blood streaming from a massive wound across his chest, and the illusion was brutally shattered.
The chaos that followed was everything I had expected and more. Luffy's rage-fueled attack on Dracule, the desperate scramble to save Roronoa's life.
Johnny and Yusaku jumped into the water to retrieve Roronoa, pulling him toward their small boat. Usopp helped, usual cowardice forgotten.
Dracule spoke again, voice carrying across the water with perfect clarity.
"Roronoa Zoro. It is too soon for you to die. My name is Dracule Mihawk. Know yourself, know the world, and grow stronger!"
"No matter how many months or years pass' by. I shall stand here at the top of the world and wait for you!"
"So, forge on ahead with that fierce conviction and try to surpass this sword!"
"Surpass me! Roronoa Zoro!"
The words hit Roronoa like a physical blow. Despite his injuries, despite barely being able to stay awake, he held his remaining sword high as he spoke to Luffy.
"I will never lose again!" he declared, voice carrying absolute conviction. "Until I defeat him and become the World's Strongest Swordsman, I will never lose again! Is that acceptable, Pirate King?"
Luffy, who grinned, responded cheerfully. "Yeah! No problem!"
When Roronoa, barely conscious and bleeding heavily, raised his swords to the sky and declared that he would never lose again, something inside my chest twisted painfully like my whole existence was being mocked.
There was something in his voice, something in the absolute certainty with which he made his promise, that made my own careful preparations and planning seem hollow by comparison.
'When was the last time I was that certain, that obsessed about anything?' I wondered, watching Luffy's delighted reaction to his friend's declaration.
'When was the last time I had that determination about returning home, knowing that I would either do it or die in the attempt?'
The answer was deeply uncomfortable. Since my defeat at the hands of the fish-man pirates, since the day I had learned just how dangerous this world truly was, I had been operating from a position of fear rather than determination.
Every plan I formulated and every preparation I undertook were designed to minimize risk rather than maximize progress toward my ultimate goal.
'But what's wrong with minimizing risk?' another part of my mind argued.
'What's wrong with being careful, with planning ahead, with trying to stack the odds in your favor?'
'Isn't that just basic intelligence?'
'Isn't that just good sense?'
"I have had my entertainment," Dracule said, Yoru sliding back into its sheath with that silk-on-steel sound. "Now I shall take my leave."
Krieg tried to interfere, but Dracule's small boat just disappeared.
But as he departed, I caught one last glimpse of those hawk-like eyes, and for just a moment, they seemed to look directly at me.
There was something in that gaze—not a challenge, exactly, but perhaps a question.
Or maybe a reminder of his earlier words about taming my sword properly.
Either way, it was clear Dracule Mihawk would remember me, just as I would remember this encounter.
As Dracule's boat disappeared, the immediate threat passed. But larger problems remained, and new ones had been added.
"Alright!" came a booming voice from the wreckage. "Show's over! Now let's finish what we came here for!"
Don Krieg himself had appeared, standing on what remained of his ship's deck. Even bedraggled and soaked, the man was imposing—massive frame encased in golden armor, the walking arsenal of weapons was visible even at this distance.
"The floating restaurant is still our target!" Krieg continued. "We need that ship, that Log, and we need those supplies! Anyone who gets in our way dies!"
I checked my flintlock again. The explosive rounds could only be used once before reloading, but even then, this is not the only thing I can do with it.
Luffy cracked his knuckles, earlier grief replaced by determination. "Zoro and Usopp will go after Nami and get everything back," he said, turning to me. "But we've got our own fight here."
I looked at the departing boat carrying the injured Roronoa, then at the approaching forces of Don Krieg, then at the strange rubber boy who'd somehow made it his mission to protect this floating restaurant.
"Right," I said, the word coming out more awkwardly than I'd intended. "I suppose... we should prepare for battle then."
…
A\N: Well, That's it for now.
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